With a shout of surprise, the man stumbled into the room, propelled by the totally unexpected jerk on his arm, and tumbled over Will's leg, crashing to the floor and knocking a chair flying into one corner as he did so.
But he was fast to recover and he rolled quickly, bounding to his feet to face the Ranger. As Will had expected, there was a weapon in his right hand-a heavy-headed war spear on an ash shaft. He extended it now toward Will in a two-handed grip, the razor-sharp head weaving slightly as if to mesmerize his enemy.
Will didn't move. He stood, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for instant action. His hands were empty of weapons. Alyss, he noticed with interest, had come to her feet, a long and dangerous-looking dagger in her hand. She held it loosely, looking as if she knew how to use it.
The dog, excited by the sudden flurry of movement, was barking furiously. Without taking his eyes from the intruder, Will called sharply for her to be still. She subsided, growling threateningly while he took stock of the spearman.
He was big and heavy-shouldered, with unkempt black hair and a black beard. The eyes were dark and burning with anger under heavy brows and the large nose had been broken at some time and badly reset so that it had a distinct crook in it. He wore dark clothing a jerkin and woolen trousers, and a dark brown cowled cloak. Will had never seen him before, but he knew who he was.
"John Buttle," he said calmly. "What do you want here?"
An unpleasant smirk touched the man's mouth as he answered. The voice was deep and throaty and his accent and manner of speech marked him as a commoner.
"Know me, do you? Ain't that a prize."
"I know of you," Will replied evenly. "You have a reputation around this fief."
Buttle sneered. "Reputation! Nothing's ever been proved against me. Nothing ever will be."
"That could be because there are never any witnesses left alive when you do your dirty work." Then Will added briskly, "Now get on with it! What are you doing sneaking around my home in the middle of the night?"
For a moment, a puzzled look flicked across Buttle's face. Will's peremptory tone took him by surprise. After all, he was the one who was armed. The small Ranger, who he now saw looked to be still a boy, had no weapons. Oh, he did have what appeared to be an oversized knife at his hip, but Buttle would have him spitted on the spear before he could get that unsheathed. As for the blond girl, her dagger held no fears for him.
"I've come for my dog," he said, at length. "Heard you'd stolen her and I want her back."
He glanced at the dog as he spoke and she flattened her belly to the floor, the growling intensifying as she did so.
"Shut up, you!" he shouted at her, but the dog only snarled more, baring her teeth at him.
"You certainly have a way with her," Will said. He made a quick hand gesture and she quieted instantly.
"Very clever!" Buttle sneered, now thoroughly angry. "I'll teach her manners, like I taught her last time. Little bitch tried to bite me, so I taught her."
"With that great big spear, I suppose?" Alyss asked. "How incredibly brave of you." She leaned nonchalantly against the back of the chair she'd been sitting in, assessing the bearded man coolly. Will smiled quietly to himself at her absolute composure. Buttle, on the other hand, seemed to be enraged by it.
"Don't come the high and mighty with me, girl!" he shouted. "Not you with your little knife and your secret Courier doings!" He lowered his voice and continued, "Got a secret assignment for our Ranger, have we? I'll bet there'll be those who'll pay to know about that."
Will and Alyss exchanged quick glances. Buttle saw the exchange and continued, with growing confidence.
"Oh yes, I heard you and your plotting. Rangers and Couriers, always sneaking around with secrets, aren't you? Learn to keep your voices down when John Buttle's around, you should."
He was in control of the situation now and pleased to see that he had shattered their air of unconcern. He realized now that he had overheard something important when he had been outside the door and his criminal brain was working to see how he could profit by it. Long experience told him that when there was something that somebody wanted to keep secret, there was inevitably another somebody who would pay to know about it.
"Oh dear," said Alyss to Will. "He seems to have overheard our conversation."
Buttle laughed at her. "Overheard you, all right. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Alyss seemed to consider his words for a moment, thinking them over. Then, in a very matter-of-fact way, she replied, "It seems not. Short of killing you."
As she said the words, she flipped the long dagger, catching it by its point and taking her arm back in a smooth, flowing motion. Buttle swung instantly toward her, dropping into a defensive crouch, the spear ready to thrust…
… and heard a strange hiss-clunk! followed by a jarring sensation in both hands as Will's saxe knife seemed to leap from its fleece-lined scabbard. Without pause, it swung in a chopping arc to strike his spear just behind the steel head.
Heavy as an ax, sharp as a razor, the specially tempered blade of the saxe cut through the hard ash wood as if it were cheese. The heavy head dropped to the cabin floor with a ringing thud and Buttle stared in amazement at the spear, suddenly headless and seemingly weightless in his hands. He had a half second or so to register the fact before Will, stepping toward him and pivoting again, brought the brass pommel of the saxe thudding into his temple.
At which point John Buttle lost further interest in proceedings and sagged to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Very neat," Alyss said, impressed in spite of herself by the speed of Wills reactions. She reversed the dagger again and replaced it in the sheath concealed by a specially cut fold in her gown.
They smiled at each other. The dog, puzzled, whimpered slightly for attention and Alyss stooped to reassure her, ruffling the fur around her ears.
"I didn't know they trained you to throw those daggers," Will said, and she shrugged.
"They don't. The blades are much too fine to go hurling them all over the place the way you Rangers do. I just wanted to distract our friend here so you could deal with him."
Will crossed to the dresser against the wall of the cabin and rummaged in one of the drawers. He withdrew several pieces of rawhide, then move to the supine figure on the floor, rolling Buttle onto his stomach and placing his hands behind his back. Will looped two small circlets of leather over the man's thumbs, then pulled them tight through a double wooden block to secure them.
Then, using a larger version of the thumb restraints, he fastened Buttle's ankles together as well.
"Very neat," Alyss said once more. He studied his handiwork and nodded.
"One of the Rangers designed them. The loops hold the thumbs and ankles and these wooden deadeyes let you tighten them without having to bother about knots."
Alyss took up her glass and sat sideways on her chair, frowning at the unconscious Buttle. "Of course, there is still a problem. What do we do with him now?"
Will began to answer, then stopped as he realized what she was thinking.
"My assignment," he said. "He knows about it."
Alyss nodded. "Exactly. We went through all this subterfuge so nobody would know you'd been sent on a mission. Now we'll have this moron blurring it out to all and sundry."
Will regarded Buttle, who still hadn't stirred. "I can have the Baron imprison him, of course. He did threaten you, and threatening a Courier is a serious offense." But Alyss shook her head decisively.
"Not good enough. There's still the chance that he'll be in contact with other prisoners, or even his jailers. And we can't risk any word of this getting out. Damn the man! We may have to kill him, Will"